


and i'll be your safety, you'll be my lady

by sanzuh



Series: tale as old as time [8]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonsa wedding, Post - A Dance With Dragons, R Plus L Equals J | Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen are Jon Snow's Parents, Wargs & Warging (A Song of Ice and Fire), Wolfie Jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28669995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Jon and Sansa talk, eat soup and kiss.Sansa talks to some of her bannermen. (Or mostly women really.)Jon takes Sansa up to the top of the Wall to teach her how to warg.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: tale as old as time [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1968514
Comments: 62
Kudos: 191





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Ed Sheeran's _Kiss Me_

Sansa's decision has filled Jon's heart with joy, but there is still space for relief in it when all the other people finally leave their room. Their scents still linger though, and he could swear they are clinging to the breeches he's wearing, so when Sansa isn't looking, he unlaces them and pushes them down his legs, tossing them into a corner. 

Satin enters again with a tray that holds two bowls of soup. Sansa wants Jon to eat human food again. Most of it still tastes wrong to him, but he's trying, for her. Satin mumbles an apology when his eyes linger on Jon's nakedness, his cheeks flushing red. 

Jon shrugs as he puts the tray down on the table, next to the jug that's holding the flowers Ghost picked for Sansa. He can't quite understand why the other man is so bothered by his lack of clothes. He watches him walk away, and he's already at the door when Jon remembers to thank him.

He turns around to face him and offers him a nod and a smile. "My lord." 

Jon's lip twitches. Satin keeps calling him that, but he doesn't think it's right. He is not a lord. He picks up a bowl of soup and waits for Satin to close the door before he brings the bowl to his mouth.

The soup is warm and it fills him up, but he doesn't like the smell of it, and he likes the odd sensation of the small bits and pieces in the broth even less. 

Sansa emerges from behind the screen that partitions off a corner of the room. She likes to pretend that Jon doesn't know she keeps a chamber pot there, but he's not sure why it's something she wants to hide from him. She's changed into the greyish night rail she's sewn for herself. 

He puts his bowl back on the table and walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her so he can breathe in her scent. 

"Where are your breeches?" she murmurs into his shoulder as her hands come to rest on the small of his back. 

"Gone," he tells her. "Smelly breeches."

Her breath fans against the skin over his collarbone as she sighs, so before she can say anything, he releases her and takes her hand. He leads her to the table, sits down in one of the chairs and pulls her into his lap. He offers her the other bowl of soup, but she only smiles at it with drooping eyelids.

"Soup will cold," he tells her. He reaches for a spoon and scoops up broth and vegetables, bringing the spoon to her mouth. She accepts it reluctantly, and after a couple attempts he drops the spoon into the bowl and puts it back on the tray. 

She's leaning into him, letting his body support hers, but her cheeks are flushed and there's a slightly feverish look in her eyes. She's tired, but he can tell there's something else.

"Sansa not like soup?" he asks her softly.

"It's good soup," she mumbles unconvincingly.

He wraps his arms around her waist. "Smelly soup."

She laughs--such a delightful sound--and turns to rest her forehead against his, looping her arms around his neck. He tilts his head up until their noses are almost touching and then he slants his mouth over hers, slowly, gently, hesitantly.

Her lips are so soft and warm against his when she leans in to answer his tentative kiss. His arms tighten around her body, pulling her close, and her hands slide over his shoulders, and then back up his neck and face until her thumbs are grazing his cheeks.

He parts his lips to let her deepen the kiss, and it almost feels as if he's drowning. This time, he's not afraid of falling, of being pulled under. It's not the darkness that's welcoming him, it's Sansa. They're both panting by the time he pulls away, and he nuzzles her cheek as he lets his fingers glide through her silky hair. 

He lifts and turns her in his lap until she's straddling him. He keeps one hand on her waist and uses the other to brush some loose wisps back from her face.

"Please, touch?" he asks her.

Her eyes search his and she nods. 

He lets his hands explore her body languidly, holding her gaze to watch her reactions. Her eyes are darkening, her heart is speeding up, her breath hitches with almost every shift. When his thumb traces the underside of her breast, she whimpers his name. He can smell her arousal, and his own is making him feel too hot and tight inside his own skin.

He slips a hand under her night rail and up the side of her thigh, the other supporting her where it's splayed on her back. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, and her mouth finds his again. She nips at his lips, provoking a hiss. 

His hand travels to the top of her thigh and up, heading for what lies between her legs, and his lips brush over the hollow of her throat. He buries his face between her breasts, growling her name before he turns his head to mouth at one of them through the fabric of her night rail. 

One of her hands tightens in his hair, and she pulls him back, her other hand clasping over his where it's still moving up on her thigh. "Stop," she gasps. 

Her reaction snaps him out of the haze that had him in its power. He pulls back, bracing his hands on the arm rests of his chair. He has to push down the wolf's urge to howl in despair at her rejecting him again. He lets his forehead drop to her shoulder and inhales heavily, trying to steady himself.

"Why stop?" he wants to know when he is no longer panting. "Jon yours, Sansa mine, no?" It's true, it's true. She loves him, she wants to be his. "Sansa marry Jon," he reminds her, and himself.

She covers one of his hands with her own. "We are not married yet."

He lifts his head to look at her and reaches up with his free hand to cup her cheek. If that is the issue, it can be easily resolved. "Marry Jon now."

The corners of her lips curl up, but she shakes her head. "Now is not the right time, not for a wedding, and not for that other thing either."

Time has become mostly irrelevant for him. Other than the rhythm of night and day, sleeping and waking, and the passing of it, that puts distance between him and the horrible things that were done to him, it means little to him, but he wants to try to understand. 

He thinks of her sad face, her need for comfort, the tension in her body. His tongue lies thick and useless inside his mouth as he tries to find the words to figure what she is concerned about.

"Too much?" he asks her.

She nods, pressing her cheek into his palm. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I suppose I am a bit overwhelmed by everything."

"Too much. I see," he answers her with a grave nod. He remembers her nightmares, the stench of her fear.

She opens her eyes. "Do you?"

He thinks he understands more than she realizes, but he doesn't know how to tell her that, and he's not sure what she's expecting him to say either, so he stands, lifting her in his arms, and puts her down on the table. He catches a loose strand of her hair and winds it around his finger, studying it as he thinks. He understands most of what was discussed earlier today, even though some of the things he's heard don't mean much to him. Perhaps they will, one day, but right now, he only really cares about her. She's overwhelmed, but he doesn't know how to talk to her about the things that trouble her. 

Some of those things should bother him as well, but the wolf is keeping him safe. To the wolf the world is simple. Sansa is his pack, he wants to protect her and make her happy. He wants to make her his. _Now is not the right time._

"When Sansa want wedding?" he asks her. 

"When? I'm not sure, but I'd like to have our wedding in Winterfell's Godswood."

 _Come and see._ The words enter his mind out of nowhere, and a shiver runs down Jon's spine. He knows Winterfell used to be their home, and though his memories of the things that happened there recently are blurry, he's aware they can't return there right now. 

He lifts her head with a finger under her chin. "Sansa really want marry Jon?"

She takes his hand and brings it to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. "I do, but..."

"Complicated?" he finishes for her. That excuse is starting to exasperate him. He pulls his hand from hers. 

Her face falls and he almost regrets his reaction. "Well, yes, sort of," she mumbles, looking down at her lap, where she's wringing her hands together. "I have to explain things to people. They still think you are my brother. And there is Winterfell, and Robb's will."

So these matters have an influence on his life, whether he cares about them or not. "Sansa Queen. Complicated."

"Unfortunately, yes."

He tries to imagine what might be troubling her about becoming queen. When he closes his eyes, he remembers her as the girl she used to be, eager to please, greedy for any kind of praise. "Sansa will be good queen. Kind, clever, strong."

Her eyelashes flutter against her reddening cheeks. She looks so lovely it makes him ache for her. She reaches for his hand again, squeezing it.

"And you'll be my king," she whispers.

He frowns down at their hands. "No, Sansa," he muses. "Wolf. Man. King." He shakes his head. "Too much."

"You're overwhelmed, too," she gathers, hopping off the table to embrace him. "But things will get better."

He lets his cheek rest on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair as he clings to her body. But what if they don't? What if he cannot be everything she needs him to be?

"No," he repeats more firmly, "too much. Sansa Queen."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this image on Pinterest a while ago and was reminded of the way all of you keep commenting on Jon's disdain for clothing 😆
> 
> Winter better be over soon so Jon can take Sansa out like this lmao

Jon pulls Sansa flush against him, clinging to her and letting his cheek rest on the top of her head. She feels him inhale deeply, breathing in her scent. 

"No," he says firmly, "too much. Sansa Queen."

Of course. Here she is, asking things of him he is so clearly not ready for. Perhaps she shouldn't be asking anything of him right now.

"Jon?" she murmurs into the crook of his neck. "Are _you_ sure you want to marry me?"

He pulls back to study her face, confusion clear in his features. He takes her hand and places it over his heart. "Yes." He presses his lips to her temple and then her cheekbone. "Yes. Yes."

She bites her lip. "But what if you get-what if you change? What if you become more man than wolf and you don't feel the same anymore?"

He opens his mouth and closes it again, but she knows there is no doubt in the gesture. He's just trying to find his words.

"What if you don't want me anymore?" she whispers. "What if you hate me because of this marriage I made you agree to?"

"Never," he almost growls. "Hate Sansa? No, never hate."

She already knew he would say that, but it doesn't bring her much comfort. He may believe that now, but how can she be sure it will stay that way? He may very well come to resent her. She tells him as much. 

His hand is on her cheek, and he's frowning when she looks up at him, his eyes ablaze. "Never," he repeats. 

_You can't be certain about that,_ she thinks sadly, but it's a risk she'll have to take. "Let's go to bed, Jon."

The next morning, on their way to the King's Tower, Satin informs her and Brienne that Alys Karstark has arrived at Castle Black. "News has started spreading about the attack on Lord Snow," he says with a frown. "And about your presence here, my lady."

She can only hope she will get word from Lord Royce soon. She wonders why Lady Karstark has decided to return to the Wall, leaving her new Wildling husband in charge of Karhold.

"So the rumours are true, Lady Stark," a tall and thin young woman with a dark braid calls out as they enter. Lady Mormont and Lord Glover are already there.

"We've told her what happened to Lord Snow, my lady," Maege Mormont offers, "to spare you from having to share the tale again, if it please you."

Sansa believes it does. After all, she has a different tale to tell today. Now that she's decided to reveal the truth, she might as well include Alys Karstark. "Thank you, my lady. You should tell Lady Karstark about my brother's will as well."

She indicates they can sit down, and reaches into her cloak to clasp her father's letter as she does so herself, listening as Maege reveals Robb's last wishes, while Lord Glover fills in the blanks.

"But if your earlier claims are true," Alys Karstark utters when she's heard their tale, "Lord Snow is in no fit state for kingship right now."

"That is correct," Sansa takes over. "My lord, my lady," she addresses Glover and Mormont, showing them the letter. "Do you recognize this?"

"It's the letter Lord Reed gave us and asked us to deliver to Lord Snow," Maege replies with a nod to Lady Karstark. 

Sansa hands it over to Satin, who is standing next to her chair with Brienne on the other side, and she asks him to read the letter's contents to the people who are present.

When he's finished, she waits for them to speak first. From the corner of her eye, she sees Brienne gripping the pommel of her sword, making it harder to control the urge to wring her hands together or bite her lip. 

Lord Glover grips the armrest of his chair and nods sharply. "That settles it then. His claim is worthless. You are the Young Wolf's heir, my lady."

"I don't believe it is that simple, Lord Glover," Lady Alys objects. 

Lady Mormont nods. "Those who wish to dismiss this tale need only say it is a lie fabricated to discredit Lord Snow's claim."

"And will it even matter?" Lady Karstark wonders. "He's still a man of the North, raised by Eddard Stark."

"And people might still try to take advantage of him," Lady Mormont concludes. 

"You are both right," Sansa agrees, straightening her back. "And that is why I intend to unite our claims."

"Unite them?" Lady Mormont asks with raised eyebrows.

Lady Karstark sits back in her chair. "You mean to marry him?"

Sansa confirms with a single nod. "I do."

"You would give us another mad Targaryen king?" Glover demands incredulously.

"He's not mad," Sansa corrects him. "And he's been raised as a Stark."

"He'll be nothing but a burden to you!" he rages. "He'll--

"Gal," Maege Mormont interrupts him, "do you see another alternative, one that doesn't involve..." She lets her words trail off. "It's a sensible solution," she concludes, though she doesn't seem pleased with it. 

"Were you and Lord Snow close as children, my lady?" Lady Karstark pipes up.

Though Sansa is surprised by her question, she's grateful for the distraction, and she answers with a slow shake of her head and a tentative smile. "Given the current circumstances, I can say that, fortunately, we were not."

"So he's a pawn to you," she gathers, boldly meeting Sansa's eyes, "a means to an end."

The wolf inside her bristles. "He is the only family I have left," she retorts, but Lady Karstark doesn't look away. 

"If I didn't care about him," she continues slowly, emphasizing every word, "I could keep him around to act as his regent, or out the truth in some other way to try and discredit his claim." She takes a deep breath to keep her voice from rising and speeding up. 

"Lady Karstark, I don't _need_ Jon's claim. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's. I only wish to protect him, and to unite the North against the Boltons." She pauses, forcing herself to look at their faces. "What happens if _they_ wish to use him as a pawn, a puppet?" 

She lets them ponder that for a moment. "Winter is coming," she reminds them. "We need to stand together to face it, if we wish to survive."

"Lady Stark!" Sansa hears behind them when she steps outside with Brienne. It's Lady Karstark. She waits for her to catch up with them.

"I'd like to have a word with Lord Snow," she announces. 

_Why?_ she wants to ask her. "I'm afraid he is not particularly talkative."

She nods. "I understand. Still, I would like to learn his opinion on your intentions with this marriage."

Lady Karstark really doesn't trust her. At least she is being upfront about it. Sansa knows what Robb did to her father. Is that the reason for her misgivings? And obviously, she must feel indebted to Jon. It was him who saved her from the unwanted marriage her uncle had arranged to steal her claim. Does she believe she's trying to return the favour by questioning Sansa's motives?

"Very well, then," Sansa concedes when they arrive at the armoury. "If it please you, my lady, I would like to have a moment alone with him before you enter, to inform him you're coming to see him. He doesn't always react well to strangers." _And I'd prefer if he put on some clothes before you come in._

"I am not a stranger to him," Lady Alys reminds her. 

She resists the urge to show her irritation. "He's not fond of wearing clothes. We would all be more comfortable if I managed to get him to put on a pair of breeches first," she says gently.

"Naked men don't scare me", she laughs. "I will see him now."

Reluctantly, Sansa gives Brienne a nod to dismiss her and offers Alys a courteous smile. 

"Jon?" she calls out as they enter. "Lady Karstark is here to see you."

His approach is slow and wary, and he stays behind Sansa, putting her between him and his visitor, staring at her and throwing furtive glances at Sansa. She unfastens her cloak and wraps it around his shoulders.

Lady Alys offers him a grin as she closes the distance between them. "Do you remember me, my lord?" When she puts a hand on his arm, Jon flinches and snaps his teeth at her, Sansa's cloak sliding down to the floor. 

"Jon," Sansa scolds him, even though part of her wishes she could tell Lady Alys off in much the same way. "Please, be nice," she adds, hoping he can hear the desperation in her voice. 

Jon lowers his eyes, but when he glances up again, he only offers Alys a foul glare. "No touch. Not Sansa."

Alys laughs, making Jon growl under his breath as he shuffles behind Sansa, wrapping his arms around her waist and hiding his face in her hair. 

"My lord," Lady Karstark continues. "Do you consent to this marriage Lady Sansa is proposing?" she asks him.

Sansa feels Jon lift his head from her hair to look at Alys, pulling Sansa closer. "Jon marry Sansa," he confirms enthusiastically, pressing his cheek to her hair. 

"He seems eager enough," Alys Karstark mutters, her frown morphing into a cautious smile. "Very well then. Your Grace," she adds, before retreating with a bow of her head. 

As soon as they are alone again, Sansa turns around to embrace Jon. "I'm so sorry, Jon. I didn't want to let her see you, but she kept insisting."

"No touch," he repeats.

"I know," she whispers, nuzzling his neck. "She shouldn't have."

"Wants dance with Jon," he explains in a strained voice. "Too smiley, fluttery eyes."

"Is that right?" She pulls away to look at him. "She should keep her fluttery eyes far away from you. You're my wolf man, aren't you, Jon?"

"Wolf man," he mumbles, nodding, and suddenly he releases her, stalking over to the foot of their bed. To her surprise he dresses in a long tunic and boots. He returns to pick up her cloak and places it around her shoulders, fastening it and pulling it closer around her.

"Come," he says, taking her by the hand. Too baffled to object, Sansa follows him, and he leads her to the winch elevator that is used to transport supplies up to the top of the Wall. 

"Up!" he barks at the black brothers manning it as he helps Sansa step into the cage. They will have to work on his manners if she is to take him anywhere. He holds her all the way up to the top, assuring her she is safe. She can feel the air around them growing colder the higher up they travel, but with his warmth all around her, it doesn't bother her. 

There are more men up there, who step forward to stabilize the cage so they can step out of it. Jon throws the door open and hops out of it, turning around to take her hand again. 

"Slippery," he warns her, glaring at the ice beneath their feet. "Need gravel," he adds in a low mutter. Sansa smiles. It must be a good sign that he's concerned about the lack of maintenance. 

It is beautiful up here. Sansa never knew there were so many different shades of white. Clouds and mist are swirling all around them and the wind is howling, but in front of her, there is a an eerily silent, vast and dazzling world she's never seen before.

"Oh, no cry," Jon whispers, pulling her close. "Freeze." He leads her away from the guards. When they have walked about half a mile, he stops and turns to face her, taking her hands. 

"Find Ghost," he tells her, excitement colouring his voice. 

Sansa shakes her head, looking from left to right. "Ghost isn't here."

"With mind," he clarifies, squeezing her hands. "Feel magic?"

"What do you mean? Magic? I don't-I can't," she mumbles, her confusion growing.

"No think," he says, his face serious and his eyes intense. "Breathe."

She does.

"Feel magic?" he asks again.

And suddenly, she can. "Yes, it's like vibrations, or a current in the air."

He offers her a radiant grin. "Close eyes. Reach out."

She follows his instructions, brushing her thumbs over his knuckles. She's frowning, focusing, trying, but nothing is happening.

"Breathe," Jon reminds her.

She inhales, and exhales, and her consciousness leaves her with her breath. She can sense all the creatures around them, both humans and animals, and then she is soaring high above it all. She is no longer Sansa, nor the snowy owl who's carrying her on its wings. She's neither and both. 

She feels a sharp prick at the edge of her mind, but then she recognizes Jon, and she can feel him squeezing her hands again, calling her back. 

"No bird now. Ghost," he tells her when she opens her eyes to meet his. 

As soon as she gives it another try, she can feel him clinging to her, guiding her when she reaches out again. An instinct that runs deeper and stronger than her own self wants to resist him, tries to shake him off, but she surrenders to him, letting him carry her to their joint destination. 

For a moment, Ghost winces at her unexpected presence, but he relaxes just as quickly. And then they are running, breathing in the cool air, flying over branches and roots, moss and leaves, under low branches and over small bushes.

She feels so free. It's such a relief to finally be running on all fours again, to feel the wind in her fur and the forest floor under her paws. They're all sharing her joy, and it's starting to overwhelm them. They slow down to a trot and focus on the sounds and smells around them.

Sansa didn't understand the connection between Jon and Ghost before, but she believes she does now. Ghost is part of Jon and Jon is part of Ghost, and they know the other better than they know themselves. Somewhere in a dark corner they are sharing to lighten the burden they've hidden Jon's pain, and Sansa flinches away from it, afraid to come near it and disturb it.

But there are other things to discover there, things Jon wanted her to find when he brought her here. He is telling her all the things he couldn't put into words earlier, and most of all, he is showing her how much he loves her. She's pack, she's everything, and he's completely hers.

 _How could this ever change?_ he asks her, not in words, but through the strange and wonderful connection they are sharing in this incredible moment.

She feels warm and safe and cherished; loved, so loved, but it's too much. She's so overwhelmed that she gasps for air when she comes up and opens her eyes in her own body again. Jon is right there with her. 

"Never," he reminds her, holding her tightly. "Never, Sansa."


End file.
